


Legacy

by kuhekabir



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non Consensual, Rape/Non-con References, Violence, clint-loki friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:23:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuhekabir/pseuds/kuhekabir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unlikely friendship between Clint and Loki has everyone worried. Is Clint only acting out because he feels betrayed by everyone else? Is Loki up to his old tricks? Only time will tell...unless Phil is too late to go after the man he loves...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> The non-con in this story is not graphic. But it is there. It is also a part of the plot with references to other similar situations in the past. I will not go into too many details but like I said, it is an important part of the plot so please consider yourself warned.
> 
> Also, since I totally adore Loki, I can't have him as the bad guy. So there will be Loki-Clint friendship because I can't actaully recall reading anything similar (if such a story is out there, TELL ME). The main pairing will be Clint/Phil.
> 
> Also, I gave it the highest rating just to be covered. I don't like adjusting ratings as the story progresses.
> 
> Kudos are love? Feedback is snuggled?

“He can’t be trusted with this.” Natasha’s voice cut through him like a knife would through skin.

He stopped in the hallway, mid step. He wasn’t above listening in to other people talk about him. Hell, most of the time he got a kick out of sneaking around, using vents for example, to get the drop on people.

This time though he wished he hadn’t come this way. He didn’t linger, didn’t want to hear what else she might have to say about him, so he hurried down the hallway towards his room.

Out of all the people to question his loyalty, to question who he was…Clint bit his lower lip until he could taste blood. Once he was inside, he rolled his shoulders as if he wanted to dislodge something nasty.

Well, no matter, he decided. Wasn’t the first time, right? And it wasn’t as if she, or the others, didn’t have reason to be cautious around him. Most of the time he still woke up covered in sweat with his heart beat through the roof…so if he had lingering doubts about his own state of mind, he couldn’t really fault anyone else for thinking along the same line.

It still hurt. Grabbing his bow and a few rather explosive arrows, he decided to head out to a more deserted area of the city so he could randomly shoot at things. And marvel at how everything flew apart. Good way to exorcise his demons, right?

The alarm sounded right as he was about to head out onto the hallway. Business as usual then…at least he’d have a legitimate reason to take out his anger on some unsuspecting idiot playing at being a super villain. This was even better than shooting at random buildings. Villains at least shot back.

##

“Tasha!” He screamed, reaching behind him, grabbing one of his last arrows. With swift moves, he had the arrow ready. Before the man could even blink, he went down, and Natasha didn’t have to worry any more about getting shot in her back.

He was the last one running towards the exit due to the fact he’d been perched high up, close to the glass ceiling, shooting at people his team mates couldn’t get to. In this small, confined warehouse, Stark’s armour had been a hindrance, too bulky for the fine manoeuvres needed.

Clint was sure though it wouldn’t take long for Stark to enhance his suit to overcome this flaw. You got to give the guy credit for tenacity.

Banner in Hulk-mode hadn’t been very effective either since this had been more of a sneak attack than a full frontal assault. So for once, his skill had actually been the thing to make a difference since with his keen eye sight he’d been able to call out positions and take out the enemy before they could even become a threat to any of his team mates. What the goal of this exercise was, he hadn’t figure out yet. The warehouse was deserted, nothing of importance here and yet, mayhem was everywhere? Was this a test? Or something else?

“Clint!”

There was a loud roar, blinding light and then he was sailing through the air. The pain didn’t even hit him until he landed on something sharp. Heat exploded all around him and then, everything vanished like it had never been there at all.

##

“Well…well…aren’t you a find…”

Clint wasn’t programmed to accept soft touches. As a matter of fact, if he got slapped, he would probably just continue to let the drowsiness take him further down but when there was a thumb tracing an almost gentle line down his cheek, panic flared in him hot and sharp.

His eyes snapped open. His foray into waking up didn’t last long. The blinding light had him squeezing his eyes shut almost instantly.

What the fuck?

His senses were on high alert. His breathing sounded so ragged, so loud to his hears, that it even managed to increase the drumming on his skull. He sucked in a deep breath, wishing almost instantly he hadn’t done so. He was experienced enough to guess he hadn’t actually broken any ribs, he was still breathing albeit with difficulty and not spitting up blood, but he was probably sprouting quite a few nasty bruises.

What had happened…? Oh…there had been an explosion…he’d sailed through the air and now…now what?

“Most people would assume that Stark or even Banner would be a price…Maybe even the woman but they would be wrong…”

Clint opened his eyes again. At least he tried because just lifting his eye lids seemed to have gotten to be a nearly impossible task to accomplish. Everything seemed a bit fuzzy around the edges. Kind of like floating, as if he was on a bad trip…oh…a light bulb went off inside his head.

He was drugged. Would explain why he hadn’t moved. Or why it hadn’t even occurred to him to move since his brain seemed to be reluctant to spring into gear. He was well aware he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed but he could usually count on his survival instinct to kick in.

“You walk in the shadows,” the creep continued. 

Clint tried to pry his eyes open again, wanting to put a face to the voice so he could memorize his future target. He’d find a way to shoot the guy full of arrows…might be later at this stage than sooner but he’d get there!

A somewhat ruggedly handsome face swam into focus. Small, dark eyes, a crooked nose, a scar running from the right eye down to the mouth…he committed as many features as he could to memory.

“You don’t seek the lime light like the others in your team…you know how not to get noticed…”

Yeah, Clint thought, because every time he’d gotten noticed so far, it hadn’t really ended all so well for him so pardon him if he’d rather just stick to shadows.

“Quite a price…” the man continued. This time his thumb moved on from Clint’s face, trailing an imaginary path down his neck. The fingers were like the touch of a feather, barely there and yet enough of a warning sign to make Clint tense all over. The man’s hand moved lower, trailing down his bare chest until the tips of his fingers dipped into the waist band of his trousers.

Wait…Clint blink. Where were his clothes? Come to think of it, the only piece of garment he could detect was sweatpants and unless he’d developed a new habit, he hadn’t gone out on a mission dressed like this!

A quick glance down his chest confirmed his theory of his lack of clothing and of his bruising. Right now, he was as brightly coloured as a rainbow.

And he wasn’t tied up. Why the hell hadn’t he slugged the guy yet? He allowed no one to take liberties with his body unless he agreed to it!

His internal command to launch off the bed, to grab the man by the neck and throw him sideways didn’t quite reach his limbs. All he managed to do was flail pathetically sideways which earned him a chuckle and a pad on the head.

Oh yeah, he remembered. Drugged…

The palm of a hand landed on his crotch, squeezing him through the fabric. Ah, his mind supplied, this was where this was going.

Well, drugged sex wasn’t high on his list of things to do but he could play along. In his experience, it was always better to take pleasure where he could, especially when protesting would only results in more injury, and then work on getting even later on.

When his trousers were pulled down, he gritted his teeth.

In these situations, no one was looking to make it good for him but most also weren’t actually out to do lasting damage. Not out of the goodness of their hearts, oh hell no, but because it would inconvenience them just as much as him.

No one wanted damaged goods after all. Sure, he’d been wrong before but if the gentle touches so far were anything to go by, then this wasn’t going to be as unpleasant as it could’ve been.

Plus being drugged out of his mind would make compartmentalizing the whole thing later on so much easier. He might even be able to tell himself, it had never happened.

He squeezed his eyes shut and let the guy go about his business. Occasionally he couldn’t stop himself from protesting, from trying to move away from prying touches or to try and land a good punch but a few well placed hits to his already aching ribs had him forgetting all about it almost instantly.

When pleasure soared through him, he was only dimly aware of the other man, allowing his body’s needs to take him away to higher plane.

##

Floating back into consciousness isn’t as pleasant as one might’ve thought. There was no fluffy cloud, no happy feeling, just total disorientation and pain. 

Where was he again?

Why was he cold?

Uhng…he squeezed his eyes close again. Breathing hurt. And…his ass?

He wasn’t one to stay down for long, so after running down a quick internal check list and determining nothing was permanently damaged, he listened for other sounds around him. When he could only hear his own laboured breathing, he figured he could risk opening his eyes.

A pale ceiling, one light bulb and more beige walls greeted him. There were no windows, just one door. And the bed he was currently resting on.

He was pretty certain the bloody door was locked but he wasn’t going to just lie around and assume things. Rolling sideways, he fell off the bed. Only his excellent reflexes stopped him from crashing face first into the floor. His hands gripped the mattress. Taking a few deep breaths, he steadied himself until the room stopped spinning.

Then, he tried again. This time his legs didn’t give out underneath him. Taking the few steps from the bed towards the nearest wall was difficult but he managed. With one hand placed on the wall, he inched forward towards the door. It wasn’t far but in his current condition, it might just as well have been on Mars.

The door opened. Flinching backwards was instinctive, a gesture he couldn’t quite suppress. Thankfully, his shameful lack of composure went unnoticed because if he’d been startled, so was the other man. Well, the door was open now. What was he waiting for? An engraved invitation?

He let go off the wall at the same moment the guy recovered from his surprise to seeing him up and about. Clearly no one seemed to have expected for him to be awake yet. Well, he lived to surprise people so why should he stop now? They met in the middle and it pained him to admit but Clint wasn’t in any good condition to put up a fight. He avoided the first punch, moving sideways because he willed his body to do it and because gravity was pulling that way. When the man managed to get behind him, wrapping his hands around his waist, trying to immobilize him, Clint used his already failing limbs to push himself backwards. With a grunt, the guy flew backwards into the wall, taking Clint with him. Not being the tallest guy around worked yet again in his favour because all he had to do was rear his head backwards to knock the guy out.

When he went down, he took him with him but since he was already used to having a construction site currently sitting on his skull, the added pain from head butting the guy was barely registering. He used the wall again to get back onto his feet, kicking the guy in the stomach for good measure.

His ears picked up movement behind him so he ducked sideways straight away, avoiding a punch to the kidneys. Ow, this could’ve hurt! Fighting in his current state had the benefit of having to solely rely on his instincts. Everything was moving in slow motion, having a very surreal quality to it which made it quite easy for him believe that this was only a game. It made him act with even less concern for his personal safety than normally which, in his current condition, was an advantage. Any one else would’ve probably slowed down or been mindful of the aches and pains but not him.

Kicking out his leg like an angry horse got the other guy imbalanced which in turn gave him enough time to duck away and turn around. If anyone thought just because he was unarmed and drugged that he was no threat, well, he would prove them wrong!

The second guy rushed at him, his body work sloppy. Either he wasn’t very well trained or thought Clint would be an easy target to take down. Getting around the man, unbalancing him and shoving him head first into the wall was easier than it should’ve been. When he was done, he wheezed, leaning forward so he could balance his arms on his thighs. Where there were two, more would follow but he needed a minute to compose himself.

“Clint!”

Was this Steve?

Clint’s head perked up and he straightened up instantly. Things were looking up! He’d just taken another step, when the creepy guy from before entered carrying a knife. Clint hadn’t heard him coming. Exhaustion was already threatening to take him down so when the man grabbed him, Clint only managed to land a few well placed hits before he was pulled backwards, a sharp blade pressed against his throat.

His name was being called again but he’d barely heard it. The world was getting fuzzy again. No…he wouldn’t let it! He forced his eyes open, trying his hardest to ignore the drumming in his ears. He couldn’t pass out now!

Steve rushed into his cell with Natasha hot on his heals. When his eyes met with Tasha’s, her eyes widened a fraction. She was a master at not giving anything away but Clint knew her well enough to know she was mad. At least her anger wasn’t directed at him!

“Let him go,” Steve ordered while Natasha circled around until they were effectively blocking any means of escape.

Clint felt like dead weight in the man’s arms, the blade digging into his throat. Neither Steve nor Natasha had any weapons drawn but Clint didn’t think this meant anything. With Natasha you could never know where she was hiding something pointy and sharp and Steve could probably break anyone apart with his bare hands.

Still, this wasn’t a good situation because if anyone of them moved, the blade was too close to this throat. The cut would kill him.

It was up to him to provide a distraction, give them the chance to act. Well, he was close to passing out anyway, he could feel it. His vision was getting blurry and the dark spots were taking over as if they were multiplying by the second. He didn’t have to fake a stumble, twisting sideways while also falling into the man’s arms causing him to stumble slightly backwards. Sure, it was an expected reaction for the knife to dig in deeper, to draw blood, but since the creep wanted to use him as leverage, the pressure eased almost straight away. This gave Clint the time he needed to throw himself sideways again, forcing the knife along his sensitive skin. He was half way out of the man’s grip when he was being caught but thankfully the opening had been enough for Tasha to get close and to take care of business.

For the second time in twenty four hours he passed out before he knew what was happening.

##

To say he was awake would be wrong. But so would be to claim he was asleep. He was somewhere in between, edged between being unconscious and the waking world, unable to respond yet to stimuli around him but still perfectly capable of hearing.

“So you’re saying he’s got a few bruised ribs and a concussion but otherwise he’s fine?”

Clint couldn’t hear the responds but he wasn’t really worried or concerned about it either. Everything was sort of fine wherever he was floating right about now.

“So why’s he not waking up then?”

“The drug is still in his system.” Another man answered.

Clint was fairly familiar with the doctors in the SHIELD headquarter but he didn’t recognize this man.

“We are also running a full blood scan but we will have to run more tests in a few weeks’ time. I am told a discarded condom was found so we know precaution was used but…”

The rest of the doctor’s words vanished in rubble as a spike of pain shot through Clint’s head. He groaned.

Cool hands were stroking his damp hair, the fingers soothing on his hurting scalp.

It was a nice dream, Clint mused, since Phil had been dead for a few weeks and yet here he was, listening to his voice and to his worry.

“How much longer will he be out?” Phil asked.

“Not much longer.”

“Just enough time to pay a little visit to our esteemed guest.” Phil said, voice menacing.

Before Clint was out for the count again he thought it was nice to remember how threatening his former handler could sound. Pity it wasn’t real.

##

Doctors were idiots.

_Stay in bed. Rest. More check ups later on._

He was fine. Sure, he was bruised but the lethargic feeling left by the sedative they had used on him was long gone. When he nurse left, he slowly rolled out of bed. He twisted his body sideways until he could slide off the mattress.

His bare feet touched the ground, the hospital gown pooling at his waist. This was yet another reason why he hated hospitals. The gowns they forced unsuspecting patients into were torture devices, leaving the poor inmate no dignity at all.

Thankfully, he’d been awake when a fresh set of clothes had been brought for the supposed distant day in the future when he would be released. Well, he was going to walk out of this place today. 

He was used to feeling battered. Aches and pains he could deal with. There was no need to take this bed from someone who might actually need it. He’d just gotten to his feet when an image flashed through his mind.

_Landing on the ground, something sharp, something piercing his back._

He twisted, turning so he could get a better look. He craned his neck with no results. Discarding the dreadful gown, he carefully made his way to the bathroom. The small mirror over the basin wasn’t really long enough for him to get a full view of his back but it would most certainly provide him with an idea if he’d gotten cut or not.

A small voice in the back of his mind whispered to him that if he’d been indeed impaled, he would know. He ignored it, he was very good at only listening to things he wanted to hear.

Once he was there, he turned, presenting his back to the shiny surface while twisting his neck to get a better view. While there were dark, purple bruises lining his otherwise unmarred flesh, there was no evidence of him ever getting pierced by anything sharp.

He frowned. Was his memory faulty then? It could be, right? It had to be, he amended, for if it had really happened then where was the wound?

Deciding to put this behind him, he moved back out into the room. Bile rose in his throat. He tried to fight it by swallowing hard while his heart constricted in his chest.

His mind couldn’t have been tampered with again, right? He tried so hard to portray a strong, confident front but truth be told, it wasn’t easy. How could it be when there were times when even he couldn’t decide if he was still in charge or not?

The experience with Loki had left him with self doubts; doubts he wasn’t used to having. And this…no, nothing had happened…nothing at all.

Putting on underwear, his jeans, socks and boots was fairly easy. It was the bloody shirt which caused him problems. He glared it, trying to will it into submission.

“Here, let me help.”

Clint handed the shirt to the familiar voice without thinking twice about it. Only when strong arms assisted him with pulling it over his head, pushing it down his torso did his brain catch up with recent events.

“What...?” He stuttered, brushing the hands away so he could forcefully yank down the shirt. Blinking, he stared at the man before him.

He raised a hand, rubbing over his eyes. Was he dreaming?

“Barton...Clint...” Phil stuttered uncharacteristically.

“You aren’t dead,” Clint said carefully, his tone bland. “Why aren’t you dead?” He adjusted the question, crooking his head slightly.

Phil shrugged. “It was touch and go for a while but SHIELD got access to quite amazing new technology...well, let’s say news of my death were greatly exaggerated. I wanted to tell you but Nat-”

“The others new?” Clint hadn’t been angry before. Puzzled, elated, confused but no hint of anger. Now, like a slowly rising snake, the fury was uncoiling inside him, twisting him up into tight, painful knots.

Phil must’ve realized he’d gone wrong somewhere, that the situation was slipping away from him, since he tried to reach out, wanting to place a hand on top of Clint’s shoulder.

“No, I don’t want to hear it,” Clint side stepped Phil, reaching for his wallet and for his keyes.

“Should you be leaving?”

Clint shrugged. A hand landed on his shoulder. Before he could stop himself, he flinched, twisting away from the touch.

“Clint...” Phil tried again.

This time, Clint turned around again, giving Phil his coldest stare. “I’m fine,” he forced out through gritted teeth. And he truly was. The bruises were already fading and with the drug out of his system, he was able to think clearly again. The sex...well, it had been unfortunate but what else was new? At least it had been pleasurable, so he wasn’t about to complain. And the drugs were making the whole event a bit fuzzy, so all was well in his books.

“You were...” _raped_ hung between them.

Clint rolled his eyes before craning his neck. Tension usually didn’t have his neck hurting but clearly he needed a good work out since his muscles were protesting in the oddest of places.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “It’s not the first time. At least, it was pleasurable. And it’s not as if i clearly remember what happened anyway. I’m fine.”

“What do you mean this isn’t the first time.” Phil moved into his personal space which was a huge mistake on his part.

“Don’t touch me,” Clint yelled, showing the man away from him. Phil stumbled but unlike before, Clint simply watched him fighting for his balance, not offering a helping hand. “You lied to me. You all did. Of all the people...you lied!”

Betrayal sunk deep into his gut. He’d learned early on in his life not to count on other people to have his best interest at heart. His brother had liked to beat obedience into him, quite literally, and when he left, well, to say he left Clint for dead wouldn’t even be an understatement.

No one in his early life had ever bothered to look out for him and his adult life hadn’t been much different. This had never stopped him from hoping, from getting stupidly attached because apparently he really was no genius.

But with Phil and then with Natasha, he’d thought things would be different. It had taken a long time for him to open up to Phil but he had let the man in. Hell, he’d barely been able to function when he found out his handler was dead. If it hadn’t been for Natasha and the others...and they had lied to him! Not all the time, he was sure, but in the end, they had thought him...what...? Not worthy enough to know that the man he considered to be family was actually alive?

This betrayal he might be able to shake off. He was stupidly loyal after all. He had a tendency to forgive and forget but Phil? He’d talked to the others but not to him?

This fact broke something inside him, something important he hadn’t even known he had. Without another word, he turned, stalking out of the room.

“Clint!”

He ignored Phil calling his name. Maybe if Phil had actually come running after him, maybe if the guy had grabbed him, shoved him against the wall and demanded he’d listen. If he’d shown some kind of emotion, some devastation at Clint walking away from him, at Clint being hurt, but nothing of the sort happen. There were not footsteps behind him, no ragged breathing. No one was shouting his name any more.

He swallowed hard. Time to move on then, time to learn the bitter lesson and to not let it happen again. Trust was over rated anyway.

There was just one problem with this scenario. He still lived in the Avenger’s tower. He was still a part of the team. If he were to leave, where would he go? How would he earn his money? A guy like him, with his skill set, and lack of morals, could always find a job but his profile was too high right now. People knew his face. He might not be as well known as Captain America or as Thor or Iron Man but his face was no longer a secret. The world knew what Hawkeye looked like. His skill set was very specific too. If he were to get a new name, a new identify, his keen eye sight and penchant for bow and arrow would give him away every single time.

And he’d be dammed if he would let them take this away from him too. No, for now he would stay. He would figure something out eventually. After all, hadn’t he perfected the art of landing on his feet?

Granted, he was getting rather tired of having to do it over and over again but at least he could take comfort in the fact that he knew how to survive.

How he got back to the tower, Clint didn’t recall. SHIELD probably provided him with a ride since he surely would remember if he’d taken a taxi.

Anyway, when he walked unannounced and unexpected into the main living room area, looking for a snack, he ended up frozen to the spot.

His eyes must be betraying him. This couldn’t be true.

“Hawkeye!” Thor bellowed, looking genuinely happy to see him. He liked the guy. He really did. Thor had his priorities straight. Apart from his fixation with Loki but otherwise? The guy was good fun to be around. “It is good to see you again, my friend. Come celebrate with us. Odin has pardoned my brother.”

“Not your brother.”

Clint could hear the mutter as if his ears were finely attuned to Loki.

“Thor,” Natasha stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder.

All Clint could do was stare. “What is he doing here?” He demanded to know. His fingers clenched into tight balls. He was itching for his bow. Or for a gun. Hell, he’d settled for good kitchen knife at this point!

“As punishment for his crimes, my father has stripped Loki of all his powers. The man of Fury has agreed to allow Loki and me to stay here...to keep an eye – heh! - on him.”

Clint gaped. Then, without another word, he simply turned. He was out of words.

“Clint!” Natasha was running after him but he was quicker. When he got to his room, he shut the door in her face. Contrary to other people, she was able to take a hint. She didn’t bother to enter but he knew Clint was living on borrowed time. But for now, he would settle for what he could get.

He grabbed his bow and his cleaning kit and then he set to work.

##

“You know, it’s practically indecent what you’re doing to your bow.”

Clint’s head snapped up so quickly, he nearly gave himself whiplash. He growled, clutching the weapon.

“Don’t shoot!” Loki held up his hands.

Why Clint didn’t do it, he had no clue. Instead, he kept his gaze firmly trained on the guy, not missing the nervous tick around his eyes.

“Look,” Lok inched closer, coming to rest just a few steps away from him. “You are one of the few who know what happened.”

Clint still didn’t say anything. Just because Loki hadn’t been acting out of his own free will, didn’t change the fact he’d mind-controlled him.

“You got impaled.”

Clint blinked. “What?”

“In the warehouse,” Loki continued, his green eyes boring holes into Clint’s skull. “I could feel you being hurt...my magic reacted before I could think twice about. It was as if I felt your pain, as if your injury was mine.”

Clint’s mouth fell open. What?

“I healed myself. It was instinct. But I wasn’t actually the one hurt. I’ve been feeling your pain occasionally since then...”

“But...” Clint stuttered. “I thought you were neutered!”

Loki scowled. “Odin must’ve been mistaken.” Then he shrugged. “I don’t have my magic. That much is true,” he confessed. “But I am also not totally without. I think it might be due to my Jotun heritage?”

“Due to your what?”

“I’m adopted?”

“Oh, yes,” Clint made a waving gesture with his hand. Of course he knew the story about Loki being adopted, from a different race...etc...he just had never really cared for the details.

Then his eyes widened. “You’re in my head!” Clint screamed, dropping his boy, launching himself at Loki, shoving him into the wall. “Get out!”

“I’m not in your head, you idiot,” Loki yelled right back. “You’re in mine. And I don’t know what’s happening any more than you do. Can’t you just be happy you aren’t dead?”

“Not if it is thanks to you!”

A ping from his tablet had both guys jumping, looking around wide eyed.

Clint let go of Loki, turning his back to him to proof a point. He quickly checked his messages, wondering when the last stone was done dropping. “I can’t believe it,” he muttered. “Can this day get any worse?”

_I need to see you._

The decision was easy. Forgoing his bow, he reached into the drawer, pulling out his gun. Checking the safety and the status of the gun was second nature. He might prefer more old fashioned tools but this didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the sleekness of a gun. When he was satisfied, he tugged it into the back of his trousers.

“Where are you going?”

Clint really should be ignoring Loki. He shouldn’t even be talking to the guy.

“Out of all the people, you’re the only one who knew what happened to me. You’re the only one who assisted me with your free will intact.”

“Out of desperation, you asshole,” Clint shouted, turning to glare at Loki. “Don’t think I wouldn’t have killed you if there had been a way to do it without dooming my entire planet!”

“I did let you go, didn’t I?” Loki shot back. “Your friends can’t really believe that one knock to the head would counter act mind control? Really?”

“You still killed Coulson!”

“Well,” Loki drawled, “Last time I checked, the guy isn’t really dead so I can’t take credit for the kill.”

Clint took a deep breath. No, he wasn’t going to shoot Loki. Oh, he wanted too but now that the strange feeling, the strange niggling sensation in the back of his mind had a name, he couldn’t kill the asshole. They were in this together, again. Oh, why?

“Where are you going?” Loki asked again when Clint grabbed a second gun.

“To meet my brother.”

“From the small arsenal you’re packing, I assume you’re expecting the meeting not to go well?”

Clint gave him a droll look.

“I know something about brothers and wanting to kill them. I’ll just come along.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Please,” Loki leaned in, snatching one of the many daggers Clint had put on the bed. “If you get injured, I’ll feel it anyway. Might just as well take me along. And besides, if you don’t, I’ll tell Thor.”

“Blackmail.”

Loki gave him a look.

Clint sighed, rubbing the back of his hand over his face. He could use some backup, even if it was Loki. At least, he did trust the guy not to leave him in the thick of things. You could say what you wanted about the ass, but for as long as Clint had known him, Loki had never outright lied to him. And he had always kept his word.

Still, there was always going to be the issue of the mind control. Right now though, Clint’s capacity to deal with any more upheaval was maxed out.

Meeting Barney was a mistake, no doubt about it. But if his older brother contacted him after years of silence, how could he not go?

What possessed him to take Loki with him, Clint couldn’t tell. Maybe madness was contagious. At least, his night wasn’t going to borning.


End file.
